Pick Up Lines (How To Get The Girl)
by Kayley Laskitt
Summary: He's smooth. He's cool. He's practically turned picking up girls into an art form. And, for the first time, Gary Oak has met a girl whose only response to his lines is laughter. Egoshippy.
1. Hey baby, what's your sign?

pickup1 ****

:.: Pick Up Lines (How To Get The Girl) :.:

A Pokemon Fanfic By Kayley Laskitt

__

Summary: He's smooth. He's cool. He's practically turned picking up girls into an art form. And for the first time in his life, Gary Oak has met a girl whose only response to his lines is laughter. Egoshippy. 

Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon. I don't own the concept of disclaimers. I do not own the term 'egoshippy', nor do I own any of the words used in this entire fic. Now that we've established I own nothing, I think I'm going to sit in a corner and mope.

Author's Notes: You know the drill. This is egoshippy, GAMR, whatever you want to call it, it is a romance fic about Gary and Misty. Okay? You clear? No flaming from anti-egoshippers, please. I'm just going to respond with nasty words.

Title Credits: This song is named for, and inspired by, the very cool song 'Pick Up Lines' by Ugly Duckling which has received a lot of play on Triple J lately.

-----

****

Chapter 1: Hey baby, what's your sign?

"I'm not going."

My grandfather looked down at me, looking more disdainful than I thought the old guy was capable of. I ignored him and channel-surfed aimlessly, hoping he'd get the point.

"You should go, Gary," he said, putting on his preacher hat and snapping into reconcile-Ash-and-Gary mode, which he thinks is tactful but is in reality about as subtle as a sledgehammer. "It's Ash's birthday, and I'm sure he'd want you to be there."

I snorted derisively. Right. So I can call him a loser all night and so he can sit there and try to piece together coherent comebacks? As if that'd happen anyway - I'm not sure the guy has mastered any basic language skills.

"Look, pops," I said, throwing in the nickname I know my grandfather hates. "It's just not my scene." I settled on MTV, and preoccupied myself watching some cheesy boy band video clip, complete with massive pants and fuzzy facial hair and poor attempts at dance.

My grandfather folded his arms over his gray button down shirt and lifted an eyebrow. "Since when has a party not been your scene?"

I rolled my eyes. "Since Ash doesn't know any chicks," I muttered. 

My grandfather heaved one of those sighs, those 'why am I burdened with such a grandchild' kind of sighs that I always illicit from him. "Is that your whole life, Gary?" he demanded, sounding exasperated. "Going to parties and hooking up with pretty girls?"

I twisted so I could face my grandfather. "I'm young and attractive," I pointed out. "That's what young and attractive people do."

Grandfather looked all too ready to put his head through the wall out of sheer frustration. "Does an ego the size of Texas also come with being young and attractive?"

I turned back to the TV and shrugged.

"Misty will be there," he reminded me. 

I laughed outright at that. Right. "She's not exactly my type," I responded wryly, watching as the boy band was replaced by some funky chick rock band. The lead singer was pretty cute.

"Why not?"

I heaved a sigh and raked a hand through my hair. "Where should I start?" I asked sardonically. "The fact that she's got the body of a ten year old or the fact that she acts like she'd break my jaw given half the chance?"

My grandfather muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'Can you blame her?', but I was too busy watching the chick rock band to pay attention.

"You're coming, Gary," grandfather stated firmly, taking the remote from my hand and flicking the TV off. "And that's final."

I mumbled a few curses under my breath and stood up. "Like you're not doing all this just to score enough good points with Delia so you get somewhere with her," I muttered irritably as I stomped towards the front door.

"I heard that, young man."

"Yeah, I know." I threw him a grin. "But it's funny because it's true, right?"

My grandfather rubbed his temples like I was causing him immense grief. "Just get moving."

"Say something nice about Ash for the camera, Gary!"

I lifted my head and stared at Tracey, who grinned, shrugged, and switched the camcorder off. "Can't blame a guy for trying," he said, sitting beside me on the back step.

I chuckled. Tracey's not a bad guy, really, for someone who was shortsighted enough to hang out with Ash. Got to know him when he was working with my grandfather.

"So Professor Oak bullied you into coming?" Tracey guessed, swinging the camcorder by it's strap and jutting his chin in the direction of my grandfather and Delia.

I lifted my shoulders slightly and smirked. "He didn't have to twist my arm too hard," I confessed. "The least I can do for the old man, really, helping him get in Delia's good books. He's really got it bad for the woman."

Tracey looked amused. "Very humanitarian of you. I would have thought that the possibility of becoming Ash's nephew would have been enough to make you do anything to stop anything happening between those two." 

"Ash's nephew," I echoed, shaking my head. "I think that's my personal hell."

Tracey laughed.

"So where is the birthday boy?" I asked, scanning the crowded backyard. "Suppose I should go wish him a happy birthday or something."

Tracey nodded in the direction of the barbecue, which was hidden by a cloud of smoke. Several hands moved to wave it away, and before long I saw Ash, suited up in a white apron and making a royal mess of the burgers. I barely noticed that, though. I was more interested in the girl fighting him for the spatula. 

"Who's the chick?" I asked with undisguised interest, following her every move. She wore a pale blue cotton, strapless sundress, which fell to calf-length and followed her curves like hot fudge on a sundae. A silver anklet was fastened around her left ankle, and her hair fell in masses of strawberry gold curls down her back. She was an absolute stunner.

If she was Ash's girlfriend, I was going to have to kill myself.

Tracey chuckled, but this time it was more complex. "You don't know?' he asked rhetorically. "That's Misty. Misty Waterflower."

I could practically feel the grazes on my chin from my jaw dropping so far. 

"Not bad, huh?" Tracey asked, again rhetorically, as he quirked an eyebrow at me. 

Not bad? Try absolute perfection.

I nodded my head towards where Misty and Ash were loudly, happily trying to pound each other into the ground. "What's their story?" As little respect I had for Ash, even I wouldn't try to steal his girlfriend on his birthday. It's just not cricket.

Tracey smirked, shaking his head knowingly at me. "Just friends," he reported. "Dated way back when for about five minutes, but it pretty much crashed and burned pathetically."

I nodded slowly. "And her story?"

"Single," Tracey informed me. "Last boyfriend was some tennis-playing rich boy from Cerulean - Curtis someone. That was about four months ago."

Hell, that was all the encouragement I needed.

I flashed Tracey a grin and rose, brushing my hands against my cords.

By the time I made my away across the yard, Misty was perched daintily on a white plastic chair at a matching table strewn with empty cans, methodically sorting a handful of M&M's into color groups. It was cute - in a quirky kind of way.

I stood opposite her at the table and cleared my throat a little as I launched into the mode. "Hi. Is this seat taken?"

Misty looked up at me with large blue-green eyes. At first she looked surprised, but that soon melted into another look that looked strangely like amusement. "Uh, no," she responded lightly, lifting her eyebrows slightly. "Go ahead."

I pulled out the chair in front of me and sat down. Misty resumed the important task of grouping her M&M's. Blue, green, yellow, red, orange, brown - in that order.

Slightly thrown off by the fact that she found chocolate in a candy shell more intriguing than me, I cleared my throat again. "So I don't know if you remember me, but -"

Misty lifted her head, and this time she definitely looked amused. "Gary, of course I remember you," she cut me off with a laugh. She looked at me directly in the eye, almost knocking me over with her boldness. "Yours isn't an ego a girl can forget." She turned back to her M&M's. "No matter how hard she tries," she added, mumbling sarcastically.

I let it slide. "It's been awhile," I said conversationally, leaning back in the plastic chair I was in, which was so uncomfortably rigid I worried it would reshape my spine. "I haven't seen you around." I paused emphatically. "Though, come to think of it, I did see a picture of a model who looked just like you in one of my sister's magazines the other day. Was that you?"

Misty was biting the inside of her lower lip, like she was trying to keep herself from laughing. "Not unless that magazine was Pokemon Insider and it was last September's issue," she replied with a slight, amused shake of her head. 

I scowled inwardly. I tried that line on Carlyn McNamara last weekend and it worked like a charm.

"So if you're not a model, what are you doing these days?" I asked, sounding as though her resistance didn't at all throw me off.

The fact that she looked continuously amused by everything that came out of my mouth did absolutely nothing for my confidence.

"Oh, the usual," she said, with a shrug. Misty met my eyes again and tilted her head slightly, looking alarmingly lucid. "Here's a question - why do you care what I'm doing these days?"

I opened my mouth to respond, realised I had absolutely nothing to say and closed it promptly. Misty threw me one last amused, triumphant look before standing up and drifting across the yard to where Ash and Brock stood.

I remained in my chair, still trying to figure out what had just happened.

I heard chuckling from behind me and I twisted in my seat to see my grandfather standing there, drink in hand, laughing at me. 

He stopped laughing suddenly and cupped a hand around his ear as though listening for something. "Do you hear that, Gary?"

"Hear what?" I demanded irritably, struggling to scrape up the remains of self-esteem and hear whatever my grandfather was hearing over the obnoxiously loud Men At Work song playing. Brock must have picked that song - he was so into vintage 80's it was scary. 

"I think it's the sound of your ego deflating."

I stared, open-mouthed, as my grandfather walked away, shoulders shaking with laughter.

----

__

Author's Notes: There's more to come. Constructive criticism and comments welcomed - [savetheempire@optusnet.com.au][1]

__

   [1]: mailto:savetheempire@optusnet.com.au



	2. So . . . you come here often?

pickup2 ****

:.: Pick Up Lines (How To Get The Girl) :.:

A Pokemon Fanfic By Kayley Laskitt

__

Summary: He's smooth. He's cool. He's practically turned picking up girls into an art form. And for the first time in his life, Gary Oak has met a girl whose only response to his lines is laughter. Egoshippy. 

Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon. I don't own the concept of disclaimers. I do not own the term 'egoshippy', nor do I own any of the words used in this entire fic. Now that we've established I own nothing, I think I'm going to sit in a corner and mope.

Author's Notes: You know the drill. This is egoshippy, GAMR, whatever you want to call it, it is a romance fic about Gary and Misty. Okay? You clear? No flaming from anti-egoshippers, please. I'm just going to respond with nasty words.

Title Credits: This song is named for, and inspired by, the very cool song 'Pick Up Lines' by Ugly Duckling which has received a lot of play on Triple J lately.

-----

****

Chapter 2: So . . . do you come here often?

"Just give it up."

I sat up from my position on May's bed and looked at my sister, my eyes narrowed. "What?"

May leaned forward towards the mirror at her dressing table and smoothed down her eyebrows, then expertly began brushing glue onto a fake eyelash. She leaned forward again and pressed it to her right eyelid, starting from the inside corner. "You asked for my advice," she replied, speaking slowly as she concentrated on the task at hand. "That's what it is. Just give up on the girl."

I snorted and crossed my legs Indian-style, messing up her very loud, polka dotted bedspread. "Whatever happened to May 'Never Say Die' Oak?"

May took a break from applying the left eyelash to roll her eyes. She finished it, examined each eye critically then turned on the stool she was seated on to face me. "Look, Gary," she said, eyeing me solemnly. "Trust me on this, okay? I know her kind."

"Her kind?" I echoed, doubtfully.

May's deep pink glossed lips twisted into an expression between distaste and annoyance. "One of life's princesses," she said mockingly. "Too pretty and too perfect to have any time for pretty much everyone, but not above using people if she needs them. She's an all-take and no-give kind of girl, Gary. She's not worth your time."

There was a bitterness that was unusual even for May.

"Geez, May," I commented languidly, keeping it light so as not to set her off ranting. "Bitter much?"

May scowled and turned back to the mirror, flipping open an eyeshadow compact viciously. "She reminds me of Alexa Carmine - you remember her?" At my blank expression, May heaved an irritated sigh as she brushed shimmery pink eyeshadow up to her eyebrows. "The one in the yellow dress at my graduation after-party?"

Oh . . . that Alexa Carmine. I grinned at the memory. "She didn't seem so bad to me," I commented, still wearing that grin.

May glared at my reflection in her mirror, as she swapped her pale pink eyeshadow for bright, deep pink. "*She* was one of life's princesses," she told me sharply. "My only consolation for all the years of having to watch her preen is that her life pretty much ended after high school." May snapped her eyeshadow compact closed with a flourish. "I hated that girl."

I furrowed my brow at my sister, wracking my brain for files on Alexa Carmine. "Wasn't she your best friend?"

May looked at me over her shoulder, her brow also furrowed. "Yeah. What's your point?"

I nodded in resignation at her clear indignation. I deserved that kind of response for asking the main contender for the Fickle Bitch award such a stupid question.

"Honestly, Gary," May continued, her words muffled as she sucked her cheeks in to apply deep pink blush to her cheeks. "Don't even bother with her." She turned her head side to side to check her blush was applied evenly then started pressing small rhinestones along her cheekbones. 

I had to shake my head. I don't think I'll ever understand how a girl who can bitch and moan about doing the dishes can spend so many hours on make-up.

May caught the look on my face and met my eyes in the mirror. "What's so special about Little Miss Priss anyway?" she asked, her tone far more solicitous than her words. "Why are you so obsessed with her?"

I merely shrugged, not even bothering to try formulating a response. It was question I'd been asking myself with little success. 

May heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Carlyn McNamara will be here tonight," she told me optimistically. "Why don't you try replacing Misty the Snow Bitch with Carlyn as the object of your sleazy male pursuits?"

May is nothing if not blunt.

"Great," I muttered, rubbing my eyes. "Carlyn's gonna be here."

May smiled serenely at my torment, adjusted her lacy pink and white corset and unclipped her hair, letting it fall in dark corkscrews around her face.

"How do I look?" she asked brightly, turning to face me. 

I sized up the corset, the fishnets, the over-the-top make-up. 

"Like a whore."

"An upmarket whore?" May pressed. I nodded, and she smiled sunnily. "Thanks, bro." She nodded at me. "When are you getting dressed?"

I looked down at my long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. "I am dressed."

May wrinkled the bridge of her nose. "And what the hell are you supposed to be?"

I brushed the front of my shirt. "Free will," I deadpanned.

May eyed me doubtfully, her eyes narrowed. "You don't look like a whale."

I considered explaining the subtle difference between free will and Free Willy to her but I just shook my head instead. "Don't worry - it was a joke. I'm getting dressed now." I stood up and threw her a wink. "When I'm done, you won't be able to take your eyes off me."

May smirked and winked a heavily made-up eye at me. "Yeah, well, I get the feeling that it's not my opinion that really counts to you."

There she was. Standing outside on the patio, holding a glass between her thumb and forefinger as an afterthought. She was dressed as Cinderella, in a full pale pink ball gown, a tiara and long gloves. Shimmery shoes peeped out from beneath the skirt of her dress.

Of course, I knew that she was going to be Cinderella. A slight bribe to Tracey had seen me receiving that information.

"Gary!"

I cringed, my thoughts interrupted - no, pierced beyond repair - by Carlyn McNamara's high-pitched call for my attention. 

I pasted a fake smile on my face and turned to face her. "Carlyn. So nice to see you - again. For the seventh time tonight."

She missed the point, giggled, blushed and I nearly groaned out loud. Christ, I wanted to put the girl out of her misery.

Carlyn toyed with the neckline of her Marilyn Monroe costume, smiling coyly. "It's really nice to see you again, too," she purred, touching my arm.

Oh, god. 

I pointed at her, trying to formulate my escape. "Excuse me," I said hurriedly, escaping from her grasp and rushing across the room to where Tracey was dressed as either Rambo or G.I Joe and chatting to May, who was reapplying her lip stick. 

"You gotta help me," I informed Tracey as I grabbed him by his camouflage and dragged him across the room. "See Marilyn Monroe? Distract her."

Tracey planted his heels firmly into the off-white carpet. "Hold up," he said. "This isn't really my game. I mean -"

"I'll let you have any two of my DVD's," I interrupted him wearily.

"Marilyn! Love the costume!"  
With Carlyn safely distracted by Tracey's aimless tales, I made my way out to the patio - and found Misty hadn't moved from her position.

Finally something was going my way.

Confidently, I strolled across the wooden decking, sidled up to Misty and grinned. "So, Cinderella - looks like I'm your Prince Charming."

Misty, less impressed than I was hoping, sized up my Prince Charming costume and smiled a lopsided smile that caused her left cheek to crease with a dimple. "How about that?" she responded vaguely, taking a sip of her drink and looking skyward slightly.

I couldn't tell if she was looking at the stars or trying to ignore me.

"You really do look great," I continued. "Nice costume choice . . . and you know what they say. Great minds think alike." I grinned my most charming grin at her. "What made you choose it?"

Misty set her drink on a near table and looked at me, her head angled ever so slightly. "First of all, let me ask you a question." She paused, her eyes wide and clear and locked on mine. "Who's the girl who's been stalking you all night?"

Automatically, my eyes flicked over to where Tracey was regaling Carlyn with anecdotes. I looked back at Misty, whose left eyebrow was raised knowingly. 

"Ah . . . just an old friend," I half-lied. Oh, okay. Full-lied. 

"An old friend," Misty echoed, and for a second I thought that maybe she'd bought it. Then she met my eyes, lucid enough to make me nervous. "Why don't you do the girl a favor and be honest with her and tell her that you used her?"

I tried to formulate a response, an excuse, a comeback, anything - and came up empty handed. Misty gave me an irritatingly smug look. 

"And before you ask, no, no one told me and yes, you are that transparent."

She brushed past me, the organza of her skirt whispering quietly. 

I reached up to rub my temples. I could just imagine what May was going to say when she found out.

----

__

Author's Notes: There's more to come. Constructive criticism and comments welcomed - [savetheempire@optusnet.com.au][1]

   [1]: mailto:savetheempire@optusnet.com.au



	3. Stand still so I can pick you up . . .

pickup3 ****

:.: Pick Up Lines (How To Get The Girl) :.:

A Pokemon Fanfic By Kayley Laskitt

__

Summary: He's smooth. He's cool. He's practically turned picking up girls into an art form. And for the first time in his life, Gary Oak has met a girl whose only response to his lines is laughter. Egoshippy. 

Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon. I don't own the concept of disclaimers. I do not own the term 'egoshippy', nor do I own any of the words used in this entire fic. Now that we've established I own nothing, I think I'm going to sit in a corner and mope.

Author's Notes: You know the drill. This is egoshippy, GAMR, whatever you want to call it, it is a romance fic about Gary and Misty. Okay? You clear? No flaming from anti-egoshippers, please. I'm just going to respond with nasty words.

Title Credits: This song is named for, and inspired by, the very cool song 'Pick Up Lines' by Ugly Duckling which has received a lot of play on Triple J lately.

-----

****

Chapter 3: Stand still so I can pick you up . . . 

"Gary, can you hand me that folder?"

I barely heard Tracey. It's hard to hear when you're up to your ears in self pity.

Tracey gave up on me and rolled across the laminated floor on his wheely chair. He grabbed the folder he was after and rolled back to the computer. Tracey, Brock and my grandfather had been working on research into bug types lately, and Tracey had somehow suckered me into wasting my Saturday in my grandfather's lab, helping him out.

How had he suckered me exactly?

Oh, that's right. With promises on giving me the dirt on Misty.

Misty. You know, for a second I almost forgot about her.

"What am I doing wrong?" I demanded of no one in particular, slumping in my own wheely chair. "Why doesn't she like me?"

Tracey continued tapping at the keyboard at warp speed. "Okay, I'll take the bait," he said wearily. "What happened? And none of that 'I don't want to talk about it' crap. I don't have time."

"I ran into her at Heat last night," I muttered, partly out of reluctance to relive it, partly out of a nasty hangover. 

"So you were at Heat," Tracey mused. "Explains why you're wearing your Oakleys inside."

I glared at Tracey through the dark lenses of my Oakleys and continued. "Anyway, to cut a long story short, it was another failed attempt." Tracey heaved an exasperated sigh, prodding me to elaborate. "I met her at the bar. I asked if I could buy her a drink."

"And what did she say?"

I groaned, rubbing my throbbing temples. "That she'd rather have the money."

Tracey slowly turned in his chair to face me and held up his pen like a microphone. "Gary Oak realises he's not an irresistible sex god. Tonight, on a very special Oprah," he intoned.

"Oh, shut up," I muttered, rolling my chair back and forth. "I know I can get her. I'm just going about it the wrong way."

Tracey snorted and tossed his pen aside. "Right. By trying at all."

I glowered at him and propped my feet up on the desk, eliciting a weary sigh from Tracey. "I just need to get inside her head," I mused, drumming my fingertips on my thigh. "Find out what makes her tick." A concept dawned on me. "Maybe if I followed her around for awhile, find out what she does . . ."

As I mulled over this idea, Tracey sat so upright so abruptly it looked like someone had taped a broom to his spine. "Ookay," Tracey began, eyeing me warily. "You want to think about what you just said, Oak, because you're about to take a step onto a road that leads to becoming a _stalker_."

The realisation that Tracey was right and that yes, I had officially lost my mind was too much and I pounded the heel of my palm on my forehead. "God, what's wrong with me?" I groaned, still pounding at my forehead. "I just can't get her out of my head. I can't do anything without thinking about her."

Tracey leaned back in his chair, eyeing me with the cockiness of someone who possesses worthwhile information. "You know why, don't you?"

I froze mid-pound. "Enlighten me."

Tracey chuckled, irritatingly amused by the whole thing. "She's not like other girls you've known," he explained to me, bracing his foot against the leg of the desk. "Most girls you just walk up to and say, 'Hey baby, how about it?' and they're all, 'Oh, take me you big hunk of manly man'." 

I felt my lips twitching into a smile despite myself.

"But Misty," Tracey continued. "She's different. Because you go up to her and say, 'Hey girl, looking fine' and she's just 'Okay, I have to stand over there right now'." Tracey laughed, obviously amused by himself. "She presents you with a challenge, and you like that."

I rolled my eyes at Tracey's hypothesis. "FYI, Misty's resistance is not something I enjoy."

Tracey smirked sagely. "Oh, but you do," he replied calmly. "It drives you crazy, but you love it at the same time." His smirk grew. "Confusing, isn't it?"

I wanted to break Tracey's jaw. Probably because he was so damn right.

"Yeah, well," I said after a silence in which Tracey looked annoyingly smug. "Regardless of that, it still doesn't help me any."

He smiled enigmatically and turned back to the computer. "Oh, it will," he assured me vaguely. "Of that I am sure."

"You have plans for tonight?"

I shaded my eyes and looked down at my grandfather from my position on the roof. "Depends on why you're asking," I responded dryly, making a face as I scooped a handful of leaves from the gutter and let them fall to the ground. I grinned as my grandfather dodged the falling leaves and glared up at me. 

"We've been invited to the Ketchum's for dinner," he informed me.

I rolled my eyes behind my Oakleys as I dumped another handful of leaves towards the ground and started climbing down the ladder.

"Again?" I demanded, brushing dirt off my shirt. It was one of those cool retro work shirts, with Cahill Electric embroidered on the back, and the name John on the front left hand side. May bought it for me last year. "Why don't we all just go Brady Bunch and move in together?"

My grandfather folded his arms. "For your information, Gary," he said crisply, in that authoritative way he does. "Misty was the one who invited us."

I froze in the middle of raking up the leaves spread across the lawn and turned to look at my grandfather. "Excuse me?"

I hate it when he smirks like that.

"She's driving back to Cerulean City tomorrow morning," he explained, patting his pockets in search of something. He found a dark purple piece of paper with silver writing splashed across it. I plucked it from his hand and studied it.

__

'Dear Professor Oak, May and Gary,

I'd like to thank you all for the hospitality you've shown 

towards me this last week while I've been in town for Ash's 

birthday.

I'm headed back to Cerulean City tomorrow morning (my sisters

have a huge new water show planned) and to say both thank you

and goodbye, I'd like to invite all three of you to dinner at the

Ketchum's tonight at seven.

Hope you can make it!

Misty

-XO-'

"I might be able to make a cameo," I said casually, handing my grandfather the note, sounding breezy despite the fact that my mind was racing with possibilities, as well as theories as to why the hell Misty had even bothered to invite me.

My grandfather tucked the note back into his back pocket and rolled his eyes at me. "Right," he muttered. "Like that was an issue."

I considered coming up with a response, but I let it slide. After all, given all the times I've harassed him about Delia, I probably deserved it.

-----

__

Author's Notes: There's more to come. Constructive criticism and comments welcomed - [savetheempire@optusnet.com.au][1]

   [1]: mailto:savetheempire@optusnet.com.au



	4. Here's what I'm about . . .

pickup4 ****

:.: Pick Up Lines (How To Get The Girl) :.:

A Pokemon Fanfic By Kayley Laskitt

__

Summary: He's smooth. He's cool. He's practically turned picking up girls into an art form. And for the first time in his life, Gary Oak has met a girl whose only response to his lines is laughter. Egoshippy. 

Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon. I don't own the concept of disclaimers. I do not own the term 'egoshippy', nor do I own any of the words used in this entire fic. Now that we've established I own nothing, I think I'm going to sit in a corner and mope.

Author's Notes: You know the drill. This is egoshippy, GAMR, whatever you want to call it, it is a romance fic about Gary and Misty. Okay? You clear? No flaming from anti-egoshippers, please. I'm just going to respond with nasty words.

Title Credits: This song is named for, and inspired by, the very cool song 'Pick Up Lines' by Ugly Duckling which has received a lot of play on Triple J lately.

-----

****

Chapter 4: Here's what I'm about . . .

The coals of the barbecue were slowly fading into a dull orange glow, matching the color of the sky as the sun sank into the horizon. Brock's barbecue had tapered off, and the few people attending were scattered throughout the Ketchum backyard.

May was sitting opposite me at a white plastic outdoor setting, her elbows propped on the surface. "Your turn," she pointed out, adjusting her one-sleeve white top, causing the red stars printed across it to glimmer in the fading light. 

Distractedly, I nodded and held my fist out obediently. 

"1, 2, 3," May chanted, matching each word with a shake of her fist. 

I was scissors, May was paper. She made a face and extended her bare left arm, holding out her reddened inner elbow to me.

With my index and middle fingers, I slapped May across her inner elbow as hard as I could. A loud crack resonated and she cursed audibly, totally put of character for my prissy sister.

"Gary!" my grandfather reprimanded from his position across the pergola. "Stop hitting your sister!"

Ash, talking to my grandfather, shot me a reproachful look like my grandfather had just told him that I enjoy going out and kicking puppies for fun. May laughed.

For years, I've been playing May's violent interpretation on Paper Rock Scissors and for years I've been getting in trouble for it. Some people never learn.

The glass sliding door opened then, and I immediately turned my head to see who it was. Seeing Brock slip through, I sighed and turned back to May. 

She was glaring at me.

"What?" I asked, shifting uncomfortably. Even though her eyes are just like mine, they're still damn scary sometimes.

"For God's sake," she said exasperatedly in her wispy voice, tossing her dark locks. "You've been acting like a hummingbird on speed all night." She leaned across the table towards me, her silver locket dragging along the plastic. "Why don't you just go talk to her?"

I flushed - was I that predictable? "Because," I hissed, leaning towards her. "She hasn't exactly been receptive, has she?"

May sat back in her chair and eyed my reproachfully, managing to look far wiser than her years. "See, that's your problem, big brother. You still can't distinguish the difference between talking to a girl and hitting on a girl." She shrugged her narrow shoulders. "She's leaving tomorrow, Gary. Just go talk to her. You know you'll regret it if you don't."

So I set out looking for Misty, able to feel May's dark eyes watching me the whole time.

I found her at the front of the house, sitting on the front steps, nursing a can of Diet Coke. She was dressed casually, in faded bootleg hipster jeans and a strapless top made of eyelet lace. She was staring wistfully up at the stars emerging in the sky, and I felt incredibly intrusive.

Hesitantly, I sat beside her on the front step. "Hey," I greeted her quietly.

Misty turned her head slightly to look at me, before returning her attention to the sky. "Hey, yourself," she responded.

"You okay?" I hedged, tugging at the collar of my Mooks shirt. I couldn't recall seeing Misty so pensive, and it was a little alarming.

She smiled and picked at the metal ring of her Coke can. "Yeah I'm cool," she assured me. "Just thinking. How it'd be nice if life was eternal holiday."

I shrugged slightly. "Yeah. But if you had holidays all the time, would you really appreciate them?"

Misty blinked, surprised. "No," she said slowly. "I guess not." She grinned and nudged me slightly. "You're smarter than you look."

"Thanks." 

Misty laughed.

A few silent seconds later, I spoke up. "So, I have to ask . . . why'd you invite me?"

Painfully slow, Misty angled her body to face me, and met my eyes with a boldness that was slightly intimidating. "Why wouldn't I?"

I coughed slightly, raked a hand through my hair. "I don't know. I just assumed that . . . you know, after everything that you must . . . "

"I don't hate you," she interrupted, reading me like a Dr. Seuss. She grinned charmingly. "You irritate the hell out of me, but I don't hate you."

Well, it's a step up, I guess.

It occurred to me that this was the first time I'd actually attempted to have a conversation with Misty, the first time I'd seen past her looks. 

And I suddenly felt like the world's biggest jackass for hitting on her.

Before I could tell her, the front door swung open behind us. I twisted my head and saw May there, looking apologetic. "Sorry," she said. "Gramps said to tell you we're leaving."

Behind May, I could see my grandfather saying goodbye to everyone. I couldn't believe it. Here was my chance, and it had just flown out the window. 

Misty and I stood as my grandfather made his way out to the front. "Misty," he said, smiling fondly at her. "It's such a shame to see you go."

She angled her head and smiled. "Yeah, I know. I hate to go. But I'll be back, don't you worry. Cerulean City's not so far away."

My grandfather kissed her on the cheek, May gave her an awkward hug and I stood there feeling like a leper. A leper who didn't know what to say.

"Come on, Gary," my grandfather said, nodding towards the car parked out on the curb. "Let's go."

I licked my lips out of nervousness. "Um, I'll be with you in a second." I turned to Misty, dropping my voice. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

She nodded, brow furrowed, and allowed me to pull her aside. May winked brazenly at me then dragged my grandfather towards the car.

"Can I call you sometime?" I blurted out, my words falling out anxiously.

Misty stared at me silently, and bit her lower lip. "Gary . . . "

"Just to talk," I jumped in, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure she could hear it. "I'm sorry about all those lines I tried on you, okay? You deserved better than that. But I do like you and if you'll let me, I'd like to call you and get to know you a little better."

I've never spoken so fast or so honestly in my entire life.

I was half-expecting her to write her number down for me, half-expecting her to tell me in no uncertain terms where to go. Those were the only two possibilities running through my head - so when she moved forward and kissed me, my brain failed to handle it.

It took me a few seconds to process. It took me a few seconds to process the fact that her lips were soft and that her lips tasted of butterscotch and that her lips were on mine, kissing me sweetly. 

When she pulled away, my heart nearly exploded out of my chest and retired on the lawn. 

"I've been waiting all week for you to say that," she told me, touching my cheek and smirking. "I was really hoping you'd come to your senses."

I was speechless. 

"Ash has my number. Call me anytime."

I was still speechless. 

Misty laughed and tossed her red-gold curls back over her shoulders. "You better go. Your sister and grandfather are waiting."

I nodded wordlessly and headed across the lawn towards the car. Halfway there, I spun around, recovered the steps I'd just taken and pulled Misty to me, kissing her. 

After a few seconds, Misty pulled away, laughing. She walked backwards towards the house, not taking her eyes off me the whole time. 

"Call me," she said as her lips quirked into a smile. 

I grinned back, also walking backwards, not wanting to take my eyes off her anymore than I had to. "Count on it."

And for the first time in my life, I actually meant it. 

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Author's Notes: Finally, the end is here! Thanks for sticking it through. Go listen to Pick Up Lines by Ugly Duckling if you haven't already. I wouldn't have written this if it wasn't for that song.

In honor of a day that profoundly changed the world and everyone in it forever - remember September 11 always.

Kayley Laskitt


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